


He Takes the Shot.

by diemarysues



Series: What Doesn't Kill You [1]
Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not as if this next mission is going to be as rough as the last one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Takes the Shot.

**Author's Note:**

> A result of my wanting to write angst, and I don't think it ended up being very good angst. Unbetaed.

In retrospect, he’d just been asking for trouble.

_It’s not as if this next mission is going to be as rough as the last one_.

 

To be fair, though, India had happened two years ago. And, barring a few close calls, their missions had gone well enough. Hell, in Venice even Ethan had been in good enough spirits to allow an extra night for tomfoolery – and their last mission had been an absolute walk in the park.

 

Not this one.

 

Ethan had been taken. The required 24 hours had passed with no sign from him, and Will had offered (demanded) to go after him. He was as of yet uncontactable. This and Jane’s agitated pacing had Benji chewing his nails to the quick in front of his laptop. No team leader, no information, no eyes or ears. Not good.

 

And then Will is shouting in their earpieces, shouting at them to get the fuck out, now, now, NOW –

 

Benji has just enough time to activate the self destruct sequences on the equipment before following Jane out the window – just before the gunfire starts.

 

He curses under his breath and pulls out his pistol. At least whoever it is attacking them aren’t particularly bright, and hadn’t seen fit to secure all escape routes before attacking. He and Jane land in the alleyway, keeping close to the wall to avoid being hit. They can hear the men shouting and following them down the fire escape.

 

Jane’s the more senior of the two of them. “Rendezvous 4-1 delta.”

 

He nods, and they take off in opposite directions down the alley. It takes precious seconds to re-holster his gun – but he’s planning to get onto the street, to blend in. He runs faster without one in his hands, anyway.

 

He hears the footsteps behind him. Counts them. Outnumbered, of course.

 

Fuck.

 

Benji puts his head down and mentally plots out a course – too bad there are people waiting for him as soon as he takes the first right.

 

 _Fuck_. So much for their assailants being stupid.

 

He keeps running, ploughing straight into the closest baddie. One, two, down. Drops the next with a chop across the windpipe. Gun out, and Benji manages – dares – to shoot thrice before running again. There are still too many footsteps behind him. He needs to –

 

A bullet whizzes past his head and Benji reflexively moves away from it, runs to the right and he knows he’s made a mistake when –

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

He thinks he’s been here for hours. The man standing before him has a strangely angular face and an offensively expensive suit. Not their mark, but someone close to her. Bodyguard, perhaps. Head of security. Mercenary, even.

 

There’s an odd sort of buzzing in his head. He can’t concentrate very well – doesn’t even bother trying to piece together where he is. Doesn’t look for an escape route. He just slumps in the metal chair he’s been secured to. Tries to remember his name.

 

Benji, right?

 

“Are you even listening?”

 

“No,” Benji manages; no defiance, no bravado, just simple truth. For his trouble, he’s hit in the temple. Hard.

 

“You idiot!” Cheekbones is glaring at the lackey that’d whacked him. Odd. “Unibrow for orders!”

 

Benji frowns. What?

 

More shouting happens, but he thinks that he only manages to correctly recognize one word out of four – if that. Cheekbones seems to realise this as well, and snorts in disgust.

 

“Leave him near. Forget his fans. I want stem arrive.”

 

He’s alone for almost five minutes before the neurons connect properly. Mangled swearwords drip from his lips as an unhealthy amount of fear and horror settles uneasily in his belly.

 

_Leave him here. Go get his friends. I want them alive._

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Benji sleeps because he must. He’d already determined that the handcuffs are exasperatingly secure, and that something is wrong with his left leg. The place he’s in – some sort of warehouse – is likely abandoned and away from any potential rescue.

 

He doesn’t remember what fills his dreams; he only knows that when he’s roughly shaken awake, he can still feel the ghost of silky brown hair against his fingers.

 

“Get up.” The man is terse, with a heavy Austrian accent. Benji decides to name him Foul Breath as he’s hustled out of his chair.

 

He can feel the blood leave his face when he tries to put weight on his ankle, but Foul Breath just grunts and drags him along regardless. Benji wonders if they’ve found the others – hopefully not – because if they hadn’t, they’d just have put a bullet in his head by now. Right? He feels disconnected from his thoughts, cataloguing the lefts and rights and straight ons.

 

Another set of doors open. Cheekbones stands at the far end of the room, beside a seated figure. _Please_ , Benji thinks. _Please not_.

 

It’s late morning. Maybe. The sunlight slants through the broken glass windows. The rays fall across Will’s face, exaggerate his split lip. Benji…Benji’s never noticed how long the man’s eyelashes are. They flutter as Will blinks rapidly, trying to focus his vision.

 

Benji very carefully shifts his centre of gravity to the left, distracting himself with the sharp pain that shoots up his shin.

 

Cheekbones speaks first. “Don’t even bother with the ‘we’re strangers’ act. We know you’re not.”

 

At this Will grins up at Benji. His teeth are stained red, blood; obviously they’d only just caught him. Benji can’t tell by looking at him what other injuries he’s sustained – though he can see that it’s difficult for Will to breathe.

 

“Hey,” he drawls, and Benji wants to hit him.

 

Cheekbones grabs Will by the hair, yanking backwards and exposing the long line of the ex-Chief Analyst’s neck. Benji watches him swallow.

 

“We’re going to torture you. Either one, we’re not picky.” Cheekbones laughs. “No; _you_ will be making that choice.”

 

Benji stays silent.

 

Will, however, does not. “And what –” he breaks off to cough. “What if we say no?”

 

Cheekbones yanks on Will’s hair sharply, smirking at the hiss of breath. “I’m not talking to you.”

 

Inexplicably Benji’s cuffs are being removed – and maybe if he was as experienced as Ethan or Jane or Will, he’d have incapacitated Foul Breath before feeling the cold press of metal against the back of his head. And then more cold metal is being placed in his hand.

 

What?

 

“You’re going to be smart. You’re going to listen to what I say, and you’re going to shoot your friend over here. You don’t want him to suffer any more than he already has, do you?” Cheekbones was clearly trying for sympathetic, but Benji was still of the opinion that he sounded like a Class A arsehead.

 

Okay. He needs a way out. He needs a way to get them both out. Alive.

 

“Of course, you could always shoot yourself. But that’d be rather selfish, don’t you think?”

 

Will is glaring at him. Benji stares helplessly back. He doesn’t know how to do it. He doesn’t know how to save them. So maybe…maybe he could save one of them?

 

Something tells him to glance up – and there’s Jane at the window, furiously signing that she’ll get them out. Benji lets his eyes slide past her, hoping that no emotion had shown on his face. He doesn’t know if she’s alone, or with Ethan, or with other members of the IMF. He knows there’s no way she’d get in on time.

 

“Three.”

 

Benji blinked a bead of sweat from his eye, mind trying to go at a million miles an hour. Failing.

 

“Two.”

 

He realises it’s not sweat he’s trying to blink away, but tears. A laugh tries to fizz out of him but he suppresses it into a smile as he raises the gun. The barrel doesn’t shake.

 

Cheekbones makes a pleased sound. “Well. You _are_ smart. Good.”

 

“Let me say goodbye?”

 

The man is content enough to refrain from rolling his eyes, and even manages a grin as he steps backwards slightly. “Certainly.”

 

Benji licks his lips. He knows that if he tries anything, Foul Breath will shoot him, and then shoot Will. There is only one way out of this…and he only had one shot. Literally.

 

“Will.”

 

“Benji, please.” Any other person and the unspoken words would be _please God no, please don’t, please_. But Benji knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Will means _please. Please just kill me._

 

Slowly, so his movements aren’t taken as a threat, he hobbles forward. Slides the fingers of his free hand down Will’s cheek. He keeps the gun pointed at Will’s head as he opens his mouth, the words barely a whisper. “Will…goodbye.”

 

He pulls the trigger.

 

Two gunshots.

 

Benji crumples to the floor. Hopes Will’ll be alright.

 

Hears the third gunshot before the world goes black.


End file.
